


Spell Book

by HorizonProspects



Series: Witch!Lock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Kid Sherlock, The Holmes family is magical, Witch!Lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1862028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HorizonProspects/pseuds/HorizonProspects
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock finds his Grand-mummy's spell-book and claims it as his own.</p><p>A little drabble of some Toddler Witch!Lock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spell Book

Sherlock find the book when he is six. It’s more of a tomb really, bound in thick dark brown leather with yellowing pages of hand-made paper. It’s tucked into a bookshelf in a back room filled with knick-knacks, empty trunks, skeins of exotic silk and at least a centimeter of thick white dust. He pays no mind to the rest of the room, he’s only looking for something to bring to Mycroft because the older boy had made it very clear he ‘would not read any more of that childish drivel to you. It rots your brain Sherlock, you’ll be dumber than you already are.’ 

He totters out of the room and back to the library when Mycroft reads something in French. The raven haired toddler hefts the book up over his head with both hands as he’d seem women in Mycroft’s history books do with jugs of water. With an ‘umpf’ of effort he lands the book in Mycroft’s lap. Sherlock’s brother slips a ribbon into his book and sets it aside to lift the book in both hands and examine it.

"Where did you get this little brother?" Mycroft asks curiously as Sherlock attempts to climb onto one of the arms of the ancient wingback chair Mycroft is settled in.

"It was a tusty room Myc," Sherlock says as he slips down off Mycroft’s chair again. He pushes for a moment before attempting to climb back up.

"Dusty," Mycroft corrects as Sherlock finally settles himself straddling on of the arms of the chair. "Dusty William, not Tu-sty, Du-sty."

"Wusty," Mycroft sighs and shakes his head.

"I can’t believe you sometimes William," Mycroft mutters as he opens the book. "Never mind that, let’s see what this book contains," He turns think blank pages for a moment before stopping on one a half dozen pages in. A single pair of words sit dead-center in the page in a tiny cursive script. Cecelia Holmes.

"William, this book belonged to Grand-mum," Mycroft flips the next few pages a little quicker, suddenly curious. "She was a genius William, she makes ever me look dumb." He finds words four pages farther in, they’re layered on thick to the pages, the black ink covering almost all of the first few pages in the tiny cursive of the brothers’ grand-mother.

Mycroft reads in silence, a thin finger brushing the page showing that within moments he’s dug in deep to the text. Sherlock leans over to look down and see if he understands any of the book. He just sees swirls and pretty patterns in the words. Mycroft’s finger stops moving as he stops reading and he looks looks at his little brother.

"What did you bring me?" His brows are pinched and he squints at Sherlock in the way he does when Sherlock throws a tantrum or does something else illogical.

"A tusty book Myc," The boy replies, kicking his little legs to emphasize his point. "Now wead it twwoo mmmmeeeee." He fades into an annoyed whine and leans on his brother in an attempt to annoy Mycroft into reading aloud.

"No, this is a foolish book. I can’t believe Grand-Mum would even have a book on this. Magic? Witchcraft? Of all things?" Mycroft stands and closes the book, setting it on the side-table beside the chair. Sherlock watches his brother pick up his own book and an empty mug before turning and leaving the room, kitchen bound and saying over his shoulder. "Magic is foolish William, now come along and leave that book. Mummy should be done speaking with Grandfather soon and we’ll be leaving." 

Sherlock slides off his chair and takes the book off the table. He hefts it over his head against and heads in the opposite directing towards Grand-papa’s study. The little boy has a mission in mind and nothing can stop him. 

He totters into this Grand-papa’s study to find Grand-papa standing behind his desk looking at something on the desk’s top. Sherlock is too short to see it, and the book over his head blocks part of his vision as well.

"Well, what does the little man have here?" His Grand-papa asks, stepping around the desk to lift the book Sherlock thrusts up at him.

"I need a pencil pwease," Sherlock responds, grateful he didn’t have to hold the book anymore, it was beginning to get heavy.

"For what little man?"

"I need ta’ write ma name,"

"Where?" Sherlock’s Grand-papa raises an eyebrow as he takes a pencil from his desk and waits for an answer.

"In ‘dat book Gran-papa," Grand-papa sets the pencil aside and flips through the book, nodding and smiling to himself as he steps around to sit in the chair behind his desk and set the book upon said desk.

"William, come here." Sherlock half walks and half runs around the desk to leap up into the Grand-papa’s lap and settle himself. "Do you know what’s in this book boy?"

"Magic," Sherlock answers, and his Grand-papa nods.

"That’s right little man. This book belonged to your Nana, she wrote it herself, traveled the world to write this book. I met her while she was writing this book and you obviously aren’t going to sit still for this story young man." Sherlock freezes in his fidgeting and his Grand-papa laughs softly at Sherlock deer-in-the-headlights expression. "Don’t worry little man, I’m not going to judge. But the point is, I don’t believe in coincidence anymore. So you brought this book to me for a reason, and so I’m going to let you keep it." He flips the book open and hands Sherlock a pencil.

The boy leans forward over the desk and writes in as best handwriting as a six year old boy can, William Scott Holmes.


End file.
